


you are a runner and I am my father’s son

by tomatocages (kittu9)



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fast Food, Not talking about our feelings, Road Trips, Running, Teenagers, missouri is for missing the obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittu9/pseuds/tomatocages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road trip is, of course, a bust. Wally and Artemis meet somewhere near the Missouri state line. There are a lot of things that just aren’t going to get said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are a runner and I am my father’s son

**Author's Note:**

> Written for anonymous at [Maneuver Seven](http://disco-vendetta.livejournal.com/93561.html): Anyone/Anyone, _load the car and write that note._ And also for [](http://torigates.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://torigates.livejournal.com/)**torigates** , who loves Wally/Artemis (as is right and proper).

So the thing was: M'gann was the only one of them with anything even remotely resembling a car, and once Wally convinced her that road trips were an integral part of the American teenage experience, it wouldn't be too hard to orchestrate a spring break extravaganza.  
   
Unfortunately, while M'gann could ostensibly read his mind, Wally had little or no clue what was going on in hers, and what he had intended to be a grand tour of the American Midwest—a tour that Wally, born in Nebraska, was best suited to lead—or, at the very least, a team-building exercise that included stops at every drive-through on I-80, had somehow resulted in Artemis and M'gann embarking on a bizarre, girls-only Bildungsroman excursion.   
   
Not cool.  
   
*  
   
It had began simply enough. Wally was almost sixteen (Six! Teen!), and thus almost finished with driver's ed, even if his parents and Uncle Barry (the traitor) were saying mild things about not letting Wally get his license until he was eighteen (and old). His enthusiasm for American landscapes and classic cars bled over into the team’s weekly (bi-weekly, if they were being honest) movie night, to the point where he forgot himself and let Rob play three back-to-back episodes of _Supernatural._ (To his dismay, it appeared to be a crossover hit; even Artemis, notoriously hard-to-please, seemed like she was enjoying herself.)  
   
Another chase scene lit up the screen.  
   
"Awesome," Conner said, briefly dragging his gaze from M'gann's face (seriously, those two). "I'd like that." 'That' apparently referred to either the Impala itself (unwieldy, but graceful in its own way, Wally acknowledged) or to driving erratically on an unlit bridge while being pursued by quote-unquote ghosts.  
   
"Ohmigod," M'gann chirped excitedly. "We should go on a trip! It looks like so much fun!"  
   
Robin, who Wally owed big time, joined in. "We totally should! You know, some people consider road trips a coming-of-age experience; a symbolic journey into adulthood and the unknown!"  
   
Both M'gann, who loved contests, and Kaldur, who loved symbolism—God, these people—, leaned closer to Rob, identical expressions of intrigue glued to their faces, and Wally grabbed the remote and surreptitiously advanced to the end of the episode.  
   
"We cannot go on a road trip," Artemis pointed out, apparently determined as always to ruin Wally's fun and/or life. "None of us are licensed, and I don’t know about any of you, but the closest thing I have to a passenger vehicle is a city bus pass."  
   
"What city?" Wally asked, sidling over on the couch until they were rubbing elbows. He wondered what she’d do if he talked directly into her ear, and decided not to risk it. "Maybe we could meet at a central terminal and take a Greyhound."  
   
Artemis flinched, either because Wally was invading her personal space—he did that, it was just a thing, he couldn't help it—or because he had been needling her about her secret identity all freaking week.   
   
"There's the bioship," M'gann offered, tying to stave off an altercation. It sort of worked; this time Artemis hit him upside his chest, hard enough he felt it, not hard enough to bruise, before diverting all attention to what M'gann was saying. "—I mean, it's not really the same as a car, we’d be flying, and I don't think it would be a great idea to open a hatch just so you could throw stuff out onto the shoulder—that seems sort of irresponsible, just think of your poor planet—, but we can all fit."  
   
She wrung her hands distractedly, which distracted Wally—her bones didn't act like human bones, and her fingers bent with the motion in a way that made him both curious and slightly nauseated. He nudged Artemis again, but she just leaned around him and addressed M’gann.  
   
"That could be kind of fun. Just, flying around the major highways? I bet we see a high speed chase if we go to Iowa."   
   
"No, no," Rob interjected. "The back roads! Route 66!"  
   
"Isn’t that in a desert? _Dislike_." Artemis wrinkled her nose and absentmindedly shoved Wally; he slid off the couch and onto the floor. "I don't care if we are in the bioship, deserts are just as bad as incipient flooding."  
   
"I must decline, if that is the case," Kaldur said. "Our field trips have a way of becoming missions, and I do not wish to be caught in a desert if I can avoid it."  
   
“But we should still go on a road trip,” Wally did not think he was being unreasonable, and pretended his teammates weren’t ignoring him. “And I personally think we should go this weekend, en-bee-dee.”  
   
Robin queued up another episode (Wally took that back, he did not owe Rob _a single thing_ , the traitor), and that should have been that. Wally spent the rest of the night dwelling on his mental road map, which at least got him through the stupid demon in a mirror storyline. Please.  
   
*  
   
But naturally, Wally dashed into the cave that Friday, toting a duffle bag and a cooler of snacks, only to find a note written in Artemis' robot-like script: _See you when we see you. Don't wait up_. She had the ability to make him feel like an ass, without apparently trying; additionally, she had somehow talked M'gann into reenacting _Thelma and Louise_ without informing M'gann of several key plot points. No one else seemed to care, but the unfairness of it—the road trip had been _his idea_ —was really too much to take lying down.  
   
Unwilling to let this stand, Wally bullied Robin into hacking the girls' browser history and used it to figure out the route they planned to take; after bolting down a mixing bowl of shredded wheat and blueberries (fiber apparently made one feel full, but he and his mom hadn't hit on the magic serving size yet), he strapped on his goggles and ran after them.  
   
As the crow flew, the girls had put in less mileage and made better time. Wally figured his advantage lay in his quickness and in his familiarity with the Midwest (he knew some of the major highways, but honestly was pretty vague on the details; still, I-80 was, well, I-80). M'gann, a foreigner, didn't know the area, and as far as he knew, Artemis came from a city and very rarely saw trees, let alone prairie. She’d probably get nervy unless she saw a windmill or a particularly tall field of corn.  
   
At the very least, it was a nice day; as he crossed out of the Midatlantic states, it almost felt like old times, before he’d met the team. Wally had taken a lot of runs by himself that year, but lately he’d gotten out of the habit.  
   
*  
   
He caught up with the girls before dark, somewhere between the borders of Nebraska and Missouri, and was surprised at his relief. M'gann was hovering somewhere even with a windmill, clearly having a psychic phone call with Conner, and Artemis had draped herself over one of the bioship's camouflaged wings, as though she were a particularly limp noodle. Wally tried to ignore the way her shirt had ridden up over her stomach, revealing the lean line of her abdomen and the fascinating dip of her navel.  
   
As always, she’d somehow seen him coming. Artemis slid off the wing and sauntered towards him; Wally hoped she’d read the red in his face as sunburn, and toed off his shoes and socks, digging his toes into the dry topsoil. Of course they were in a freakin’ cornfield.  
   
“Wondered when you’d show up,” she said. “Did you melt your shoes again?”  
   
This was the third pair this month. His mom would kill him. “Yeah. Got anything to eat?”  
   
Artemis looked up and over her shoulder at M’gann, who was tumbling though the air in lazy arcs. “God, she needs to camouflage when she does that. There’s a Wendy’s in like a mile, we can hoof it. I don’t think she’s going to end the call any time soon.”  
   
Wally bent to pull his sneakers back on. “Those two are ridiculous.”  
   
“It’s kind of cute, really,” Artemis said. “I mean, _yum_ , I can definitely see the appeal. But _I’m_ getting frustrated listening to them, so clearly someone needs to tell M’gann about phone sex.” She peered at him. “You’re blushing! That’s hilarious. Just for that, you get to tell her. Chop, chop!”  
   
If she hadn’t been a girl, Wally might have punched her in the gut. Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets and dug for change, mostly so he didn’t have to look at her. His face burned, and he wondered how he could have ever missed her.    
   
“I’ve got a five and some ones,” he said, desperate to change the topic, because talking about sex with Artemis (oh God; sex with Artemis. Don’t even go there, Wally) was not likely to go well for him in this or any other universe.  
   
“Prude,” Artemis laughed, but for once it didn’t sound like she was making fun of him. “I think I’ve got some quarters.”  
   
She waited while he put his shoes back on. It took him too long to tie the laces—he kept getting distracted by the way her skin was gilded in the light—but they started walking soon enough, and Wally was oddly glad for it; his knee was bugging him. Growth spurt. It was pretty easy to keep even with her pace.  
   
*  
   
The shoulder of the road was loose with gravel and Wally could feel every stone through the warped soles of his shoes. He walked closest to the roadside and Artemis picked her way over the grassy ditch on tiptoe; she couldn’t seem to decide if she wanted her shoes on or off.  
   
“So, how’s the trip?” He watched as she bent to slip her Keds on again, and the sun caught her as it set; the blaze of it painted her in silhouette, and Wally was reminded of the training fiasco back in October, how she’d gone up in that beam of light. His chest ached.  
   
“Eh,” she said, and wobbled; he’d already taken a step forward and he caught her arm, hauled her up on steadier ground. “Thanks. It’s good. Girl talk.”  
   
“Huh.”  
   
“Yeah.” She looked at him, sharp as one of her arrows. “Wally. You did not apparently run from Rhode Island to Missouri just to ask about, I don’t know, the feminine mystique. Spit it out, you’re _so_ not subtle.”  
   
He could see the exit for the Wendy’s up ahead.  
   
“Oh, you did not follow us because you wanted quality time with M’gann! Wally! You’re horrible, she’s too polite to say anything, you ass—  
   
“That’s not it!” He yelped, there was no other word for it. His feelings about following them were _complicated_ and he’d rather ignore them. “I’ve seen the way she and Conner look at each other, I’m not an idiot, I was just—worried about you guys, is all!”  
   
“More like jealous,” she sighed. If she rolled her eyes any harder, they were going to fall out of her head and he was not going to help her look for them. “Listen, she’s put up a good front since the training fiasco, I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”  
   
“J’onn spends every Tuesday and Wednesday training her, she’s dropped cheerleading, and now you’re worrying about her feelings,” Wally pointed out as they filed off the ramp. “Stands to reason she’s not her usual self. Heck, if I’d gotten as many pep talks from Batman as she has, I’d go lock myself in a closet.”  
   
“Didn’t know you were _out_ of the closet,” Artemis said. “But no, that makes soooo much sense. Does Robin know you have feelings for him?”  
   
“That is _not_ what I _meant_!” Why did every single word out of her mouth have to turn into an attack? He didn’t know why he kept talking to her. “The world kind of ended back then. She had a bad time of it—God, we all did—, I was _trying_ to be sympathetic.”  
   
For once he seemed to have the last word, because she got a stricken look on her face and wouldn’t look at him, didn’t say anything until they’d found the Wendy’s and pooled their cash to buy a really heartwarming amount of fried food.  
   
“Look,” he said uneasily, trying to eat neatly and probably failing—he was hungry, and the excuse had long since lost its power—, “I was kind of jealous that you guys just high-tailed it, that wasn’t cool. But I would’ve probably come after you anyway, it’s still weird when you’re gone.”  
   
She dipped a fry in his Frosty, which was funny, in a glaring, stark way; he’d thought she was lactose intolerant. There was a lot about her he didn’t know, and sometimes he worried about that.  
   
“I don’t get along with my dad,” she said.  
   
“What does that have to do with anything?” He reached out and caught her hand, just for a second; before she pulled back, he felt the leftover texture of salt, rough on her skin. “Seriously, what does your father have to do with this conversation?”  
   
“Ugh, you’re the worst,” she said, like it was a reflex. “My dad raised me. He’s not one of the good guys. I don’t live with him any more.”  
   
Wally, born into a two-parent household with a father who had played catch with him every single evening no matter how long his day at work, couldn’t quite fathom what she was saying. “Does this have anything to do with Bialya?”  
   
She shrugged, the movement noncommittal. “It has nothing to do with anything.” She had a look on her face that said it had everything to do with everything. “It doesn’t matter.”  
   
A thought came to him and it was ugly. “You think we’d—that I’d—Artemis,” and he had to grit her name out between his teeth, Wally didn’t like feeling this frightened, “you’re not going to _leave_.”  
   
“You might not want me around.”  
   
And he couldn’t say anything to that. His mouth was dry at the notion, even as he thought that she had come to them on her own terms and wouldn’t leave any other way.  
   
*  
   
It was dark on the road when they left the picnic table-parking lot. He remembered the last time they’d been alone in the dark, the week before: reconnaissance mission, he’d just gotten the damned cast off his arm and it still twinged a little. She hadn’t made fun of him when he’d almost dropped the radio she’d tossed.  
   
Artemis kept her shoes on this time, and as the light hit her—the moon was full and stupid bright—he thought about Bialya. He missed that desert, sometimes, when it was just the two of them like this. He had liked the odd, compelling sensation of not knowing her; it had felt honest.  
   
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, and even when Wally reached out and took her hand, she still didn’t look at him.  
   
“My heart beats,” he told her, hardly joking at all. She laughed, and wove her fingers through his.  
   
“Flattery might get you somewhere.” As if Wally was not capable of covering any distance on his own two feet.  
   
*  
   
They found M’gann sitting in the field, examining ears of corn with unfeigned interest; she flew them back to the cave. Wally wasn’t sure what she was reading off them, but she didn’t say much during the trip, and he didn’t feel like talking.  
   
She left them in the bay, after hugging Artemis close for a long moment, and the space was private and strange once she’d gone.  
   
“Thanks for dinner,” Artemis said. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” Her sarcasm was heavy and familiar, a relief.  
   
Everyone always talked about how Wally was fast, he couldn’t ever keep still; but when Artemis leaned close he put his hand in the small hollow of her back and did not move. It was so strange, he thought, to feel her alive against him; she leaned closer still and it was almost exactly like Bialya, her shoulder and all the weight behind it resting against his chest. Wally had never kissed anyone before, but now he took her hands and bent to press his mouth to hers. He could feel the way she smiled and then stopped smiling against him; they pulled apart, because he was laughing a little and so was she.  
   
“Not bad,” she began, but Wally said,  
   
“ _Please_.”  
   
—and for once she obliged. He kissed her again, clumsy but sure, and again after that, until he’d lost track of time; when she’d had enough, she bit him, gently. She didn’t let him walk her home, she wouldn’t even tell him where home was; he tried asking, but she silenced him with one of her unfathomable looks.   
   
After she’d left, Wally realized he was shaking.  
   
*  
   
He went home and lay fully clothed across the bed, the memory perfectly and deeply compartmented within him: her warm mouth, the blunt scrape of her teeth against his lip, the apologetic sweep of her tongue. Wally wanted it to be different—he wanted to have not gone after her at all, or to have run headlong after her long ago.  
   
Remaining motionless required practice, perseverance; he thought, not the kiss, but of the way she’d walked beside him on the road in Missouri, her spine straight and the sun glancing off her face and hairline. He wondered if maybe tenderness was a language she did not speak.  
   
There was no stopping this thing. It was almost exactly like falling down a flight of stairs.   
  



End file.
